Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
It's the only time of day when no one expects anything from me. And it's still a more traditional form of fun than any of his supposed outlets.
"All right counselor," I say. "Maybe neither of us knows how to have fun. I can cop to that if you can."
His smile shifts to something else, something dirty.
No. That's me. I have some cross-examination lawyer fantasy I'm playing out in my head.
This is normal conversation between friends.
"An admission of guilt." His arm brushes mine as he leans closer. "That's out of the question. I need some sort of immunity deal."
I let my arm brush his back. The soft linen of his shirt against his bare skin.
Why does he look so good in that short-sleeved linen button-up and slacks? He should look like a dork, but he looks hot as fuck.
He always wears white, and he's never got a stain.
He defies logic.
"How does that work?" I ask. "I promise not to make fun of you for watching Murder, She Wrote. You promise not to call me a fuddy duddy."
"Something like that."
"Is a handshake deal sufficient?"
"No. But it will have to do." He holds out his hand.
I shake. "Maybe this is what we'll do while we're looking for conquests. See who can have more fun."
"A wing-woman war?" he asks.
"Exactly," I say. "We keep an eye out for prospective partners while showing off our amazing, fun personalities."
"And how do we do that?"
"The way you do everything," I say.
He raises a brow.
"With rules and structure."
His lips curl into a knowing smile. "And what are those?"
"You know what Zack is going to do tonight?"
"How much time do you have?" he asks.
"One thing," I say. "He'll play truth or dare. So why don't we start now. Truth or dare. Only fun people always pick dare."
His eyes meet mine. "Why not call it dare or dare?"
"The option is important." I hold his gaze. I drop my voice to the most carefree tone I can muster. And I start. "Truth or dare?"
Chapter Eight
Jackson
Daphne's eyes stay fixed on me. She brushes a light, wavy strand behind her ear, but the lock defies her. It falls back in front of her face, drawing my eye all the way to her chest.
Okay, maybe I can't blame her long hair for drawing my eyes to certain areas. Daphne is a beautiful woman with a fantastic figure.
Those are facts.
The strong shoulders, the firm breasts, the curves of her waist and hips, the long lines of her legs—
There's no denying this. Or her sharp features. She's not girl-next-door pretty. She's beautiful in the way models are. She's striking.
That's a dare.
A fan-fucking-tastic dare.
There are too many in my mind.
But it's her turn, not mine. And despite her passion for sex, she's not about to dare me to lick her to orgasm.
She's too smart for that.
I can play her game. It's a good idea. Or a terrible idea. I'm not sure anymore. The stale air and the sounds of the casino are already twisting my thoughts.
No.
It's smart. From a certain angle.
This way, I can make sure she goes home with someone safe. Someone who will show her a good time.
If she picks a guy on her own, he might be no good. One of those selfish fuckers who doesn't believe in cunnilingus.
Or insists a condom ruins the experience.
Or thinks sex is over the second he comes.
I've listened to too many war stories. From women and family law attorneys. Sure, there are stories about men with selfish or difficult women, but they never really compare.
"Dare," I say.
The barista calls our order before she can issue a dare.
She pounces on her iced latte.
I sip my iced tea slowly. Usually, I don't mind my reputation as the stern, all-business guy. But with her, I don't like it. I want her to see me as someone who enjoys life. I want her to see me as, well, fun.
She stabs her lid with her straw, takes a long sip, sighs with bliss. "This is way better than I expected." She motions to the door shall we? When I nod, she moves back into the mall pathway and back onto topic.
She slows as the casino comes into view. The lights and sounds belong to a different universe. One of chaos and pain.
Not one of peace.
But that's fun, isn't it? Gambling and drinking cheap, free liquor are fun to the people here.
Her eyes go to my watch. "We have two hours. That should leave time for at least two rounds," she says. "So, first things first, Jackson Steele, I dare you to play a one-hundred-dollar round of blackjack."
It's not exactly I dare you to tell the dealer you want to tie her up, but it's a traditional idea of fun, yes. "Is that risky enough for you? Or should I put it all on red?"
"Oh, yes, you should. But I want to ease you into things." She shoots me a knowing look. "Blackjack has more strategy. That's a good game for you."